


Of Love, Fear and Control

by Lunael



Series: Enduring it series [2]
Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: BDSM, Closeted Character, Control Issues, Dominance, Gay, Gay Male Character, Handcuffs, Homosexual Romance, Humor, Light BDSM, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Romance, Slash, Trauma, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunael/pseuds/Lunael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spin off to my oneshot <i>Enduring it</i>.<br/>Seifer knew he wasn't alright, but he still had all his limbs and his sense of humor, so he guessed he wasn't that bad off. So he lived on - more like he got by somehow, and if he couldn't move on, he just assumed it was because he had a shitty Lucky star. But what if the Sorceress' wake had left more damage in his mind than everybody assumed? Because control leaves scars, and in Seifer's case, reinsertion wasn't going to be so simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternative ending to my piece “Enduring it”, because I love happy endings, but I still felt that “Enduring it” was sort of a complete piece, so I decided to write a multi-chapter story based on it - with a little twist is store for you guys, of course.
> 
> If you've read this story before and don't remember it the way it is written or think parts are missing, don't panic. It's perfectly normal. I did a major revamp of the story in 2016. And by 'major', I mean I fucking re-wrote the goddamned thing nearly from scracth, keeping only the parts I liked and that fitted with the new story line I had in mind. I felt like something was missing with the original story and it was bothering me - to the point that I could not find it in myself to continue it. To be brutally honest, the banter was pretty much the only thing that held the story together and although I love banter, I've never been one to believe it could stand in for an adequate plotline.  
> Fear not, I kept most of the crunshy parts and stored the best banter for later use. And yes, the arlequin scene has been preserved and WILL be back, don't you fret. You'll even get an improved version, for free. Lucky you. 
> 
> I’m a little nervous about this series, because I’m planning the go down the “graphic” road - now more so than ever. It will happen my friends, it will. And it will be my first time writing anything so explicit too. So of course, knowing myself, I'm not taking this slowly - nooooo, I'm gonna do this in style. Look at the tags and you'll see what I mean. 
> 
> Obviously, rated M for upcoming chapters. 
> 
> English is not my native language and I apologize for any mistakes you may run into. 
> 
> This is pretty much it. Enjoy the ride!

“How are you doing today, Seifer?”

A salty breeze was blowing through the open window of the infirmary, curtains dancing lazily under the cool morning rays. Seifer watched the fabric shimmer under the light with idle interest. 

There was a sigh. “You know, these meetings would be a lot less unpleasant if you weren’t so difficult all the time.”

Seifer tore his eyes from the window and gave Dr Kadowaki a dry look. They had had this discussion so many times he was starting to wonder who truly needed a shrink here; wasn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?  
Tempting as it wa be to point it out, he knew better than speaking his mind – however superficially – with Kadowaki. She would just ask more questions and the meeting would get longer. 

“Very well," the doctor deadpanned. "Since you seem so eager, let us begin already. Sleeping problems to report?”

“No.” Over the years, Seifer had had plenty of those meetings. 276, to be precise. Since it had become obvious by now nothing he would do or say would deter her from poking her nose into his business, he had long learned the best way to go about it was to tell her whatever the fuck she wanted to hear and just be done with it. Which was precisely what he had done every week for the past three years.

If Kadowaki suspected him of humouring her, she had never let it show. Either the woman was truly dense or so desperate to get him out of her office as quickly as possible that she was willing to turn a blind eye on it. Either way suited Seifer just fine. 

“Nightmares?”

“No.”

“Loss of appetite?”

“No.” An odd question, when you thought about it, because you’d have to have appetite in the first place to lose any of it and as anyone who has ever eaten at the cafeteria would readily admit, Garden meals were meant to be filling, not to offer a pleasant culinary experience.

“Noticeable gain weight or loss?”

“No.”

“Unexplainable pains or aches? Headaches? Stomach problems?”

“No.”

“Difficulty concentrating?”

“No.”

“Memory blanks? Lapses?”

“No.”

“Anxiety?”

“No.”

“Mood swings?”

“No.”

“Been sexually active of late?”

Seifer gave her a look. Kadowaki checked the last of the boxes and looked at her notes with a frown. “I see that you have been doing your duties and complying to Garden regulations without fault, as per usual. You are, on many accounts, a model resident and employee. It would seem that even your superior only have praise for your work.”

If the woman hoped to get a reaction out of him, she must have been disappointed. Seifer didn't even bat an eye, although the irony of the situation was far from lost on him. Had he been alone in his room, he would have snorted - he had a hard time imagining Commander Squall "Leather" Leonhart complimenting anyone, let alone his arch rival. Knowing him, he probably wrote in the comment section of his  behavioral evaluation report something like “nothing to report” and Kadowaki was just taking interpretation liberties. And considering the bulk of his job consisted in shoveling grat droppings, Seifer could hardly see how he could have been any bad at it but he kept that thought to himself. 

The woman took another sheet from the open folder in front of her and glanced at it. “Apparently, your help has also been invaluable to the Garden Festival Committee. It was very nice of you to give them a hand.”

The bait was about as subtle as a yellow school bus honking its way through the library. Seifer did not rise to it. Like he would willingly put himself at Selphie Tilmitt’s disposal for anything else than taking her luggage to the train station and shoving it nicely in the first one-way shuttle for Esthar he could find. The girl was a candy cane factory bombed with radioactive rays. Nobody _willingly_ chose to give her a hand, she just coerced them into submission by cheerfully refusing to take 'no' for an answer. He knew what he was talking about, he'd seen her at it – one of the _countless_ perks of been a full-time member of her goddamned Festival Committee. Which, by the way, he would have absolutely * _nothing*_ to do with if Kadowaki had not forced him to join it in the first place three years ago as part of his so-called rehabilitation therapy. Speaking of which...

“...although I’m very disappointed to see here that you made no efforts to interact with the rest of the committee and displayed a hostile attitude towards the other volunteers.”

 _There you go_ , Seifer thought with dry amusement. He had a mind Kadowaki was taking even more liberties in her summary of Selphie’s report than in that of Squall's. He supposed she would have to: it did not sound very professional to criticise someone for being “a dork brain meanie” and having a “crabby cricket booger face”.  
Selphie had never truly outgrown her kindergarten insults-throwing days.

“You know we insist on you taking part of social activities such as this one so that you can interact with the rest of the campus population and try to fit back in. Yet you don’t make any efforts to socialize. Worse, you go out of your way to keep everyone at bay. Why must you be always so unpleasant with everyone, Seifer?”

The gunblade user stared back silently at her. Kadowaki removed her glasses and sighed. “I don’t understand why you are making this so difficult on yourself all the time. You must be aware that the only person penalized by your attitude is yourself. As long as you don’t show any desire to be rehabilitated, the therapy will have to go on. Don’t think you’ll get out of it simply by being uncooperative.”

Seifer almost rolled his eyes. Like he couldn’t tell that if they had not given up on him by now, they never would. And the whole "this is for your good" guilt-trip nonsense was getting old; everyone knew it was only out of a misplaced sense of duty that the Garden was so set on "fixing him". The fear of being accused of negligence if he relapsed, to be more specific. Because if left by himself, he would clearly embark on another quest to destroy the universe with the first willing sorceress in need of a puppet. Obviously.

Kadowaki sighed again.

“Is there anything you would like to discuss with me, Seifer?”  
Seifer held her stare levelly.

“You know my door is always open, if you ever change your mind. Before you go, don't forget you’re required to attend the Graduation Ball on Friday. I'd tell you to be on your best behaviour, but I don't supposed you'd listen to me anyway. Do try to meddle a little this time, for a change. Alright, you’re dismissed.”

Seifer did not need to be told twice. He was on the other side of the sickbay’s threshold in seconds, glancing at his watch. 7 minutes and 49 seconds. Not bad. Didn’t beat his records, but it was a fair score. On average, he considered it a good meeting when it lasted less than 10 minutes. He once managed 4 minutes and 13 seconds. That had been a glorious day.

The campus was still stirring sleepily in the cool morning sunlight; the first classes wouldn’t start before another hour and the corridors were still blissfully desert. Seifer knew by experience it wouldn’t last long, so he made his way to the cafeteria. It was just barely open when he got there, but the morning staff already had his order in a paper bag when he showed up. Without a word, one of the cafeteria ladies put it on the counter, and as he did every morning, Seifer passed his Garden Access Card over the scan, nodded and left.

Seifer managed to get back to his room without meeting anyone awake enough to acknowledge his presence or better yet, running into Quistis – she knew she could get a hold on him around that time and had no qualms waiting outside his dorm door at 7 am sharp if that meant not having to chase him around the campus. But it seemed the nosy blonde had nothing to pester him about today - now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen mer much around lately. Once he had taken refuge inside his room, he allowed himself a smile at the thought that maybe - finally - the blond instructor had taken the hint and given up on him already. He knew better than to hope of course, but it was a nice thought to have nevertheless.

Setting his take-out meal on his desk, Seifer rolled his aching shoulders delicately, grunting at the tension he felt between his shoulderblades. For all his bravado, the gunblade user had never been able to feel at ease walking around the Garden - not since the war. The only place he was able to let his guard down these days was in the privacy of his room. Musingly, he took in the sight of his standard cadet bedroom. It wasn't much; it was small and cramped and not very appealing with its bland white walls and cheap working desk, but it was his and that was enough for him. One had to be thankful for the small things. There wasn’t much to be grateful for in the kind of life Seifer Almasy led, so he had learned to be glad for every tiny bits of scraps destiny tossed his way.

Oh, Seifer knew that technically, he was supposed to be thankful the BGU had taken responsibility for him and retrieved him after the war, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel happy about it. The Garden had only taken him back in out of a sense of duty, him being a Balamb ex-cadet and all. Sure, everyone agreed he couldn’t really be held accountable for what he did while he was under the magical influence of the Sorceress, but that didn’t mean he got an open arm greetings when he showed up at the Garden doors five years ago. Far from it.

At first there were awkward smiles and half-baked attempts at polite discussions, like he was some kind of ugly blister they had to bear with for the time being, fully expecting it to heal and go away with minimal intervention on their part. Except Seifer never did leave, and when it became obvious he wasn’t making any “progress” and wouldn’t be off any time soon, they quickly dropped the act. For years now, his presence has been merely tolerated, something he was reminded of on a weekly basis by Quistis, the babysitter Squall had appointed him to make sure he wasn’t making a nuisance of himself – and who in turn wasted no time letting him know she hadn’t asked for the job. Seifer didn’t know why she kept bitching about it, though; it wasn’t like he was high maintenance or anything. No loitering, no shouting, no talking back, no trouble-making – hell, he didn’t even pick fights anymore. He was a model charge on all accounts. Except perhaps for his attitude, but if after all these years Quistis still expected him to indulge with good grace in her boring chit chat, he wasn’t the one who needed to have his head checked.

Seifer would have been glad to be simply left alone, to be honest. But Squall and his cronies, with their idiotic rehabilitation ideas, wouldn’t have it. They were intent on “fixing him”, whatever that meant. He presumed they thought the sooner he would be “fixed”, the sooner they could get rid of him and go on with their happy lives. Ironically, they even had the gall to expect him to make it simple for them and play along by emptying his heart to Kadowaki and socializing with hostile teenage brats. And when their brilliant ideas and their therapy sessions didn’t instantly turn him into a different, reformed person, of course they blamed him. Obviously, it was his fault. He was being difficult on purpose, don’t you see?

So despite his lack of cooperation, they kept making him participate in committees and attend social events in some kind of twisted hope that crowd exposure would magically help him make friends, which would of course instantly solve all their Seifer-related problems. And _he_ was supposed to be the delusional one. Go figure.

Yet despite it all, Seifer was well aware he had no choice but to put up with their stupid shit. He was still wanted as a war criminal in half of the countries on the face of earth. As lame as it sounded, he had nowhere else to go. 

So he sucked it up like a good boy and behaved. He ate the same bland cafeteria food every day, kept a low profile, stayed well out of trouble and abided to the Garden’s continuously expanding set of stupid rules dedicated to him – not very enthusiastically, mind you, but it wasn’t like they could kick him out for being grouchy so he sure wasn’t going to deny himself that small pleasure.

His Training Center Caretaker job was another thing he did without much enthusiasm. It had been Rinoa’s idea to pay him to do some light cores around the campus - no doubt another pointless attempt to rehabilitate him or some similar sappy crap. At least shoveling grat droppings and trimming trees provided him with something to do with himself, which made his confinement somewhat more bearable. Plus he got to do it at night when most of the students slept, so he had a fantastic excuse to hide away in his room during the day and avoid the rest of the Garden population. And the fact he was allowed to kill any threatening monster that crossed his path was an undeniable bonus, even if he would have more readily swallowed said droppings than admitted he did not dislike the job as much as he let on. He had a feeling if Squall found out he liked the gig, he would find a way to force him to do it for free. Seifer didn’t care much about the money but he wasn’t going to give the brooding bastard the satisfaction of taking that small advantage from him. And small certainly was the right word for it, for what was left of his salary after he had paid for his housing fees could not even be considered pocket money. Feel the irony? Better yet: if he took more than a week off a year, he actually owed the Garden money. If Seifer didn’t know Squally-boy so well, he’d _almost_ take it as a hint to leave. Almost.

Not that Commander Leather was the only one to give him that vibe. One would have to be blind not to notice the hostile attitude of the student and instructor corps towards him. Seifer had never been Mr Popularity even before the war broke off, so he didn’t mind all the glares – he just made sure to never let himself get cornered in a secluded area at night, just to be on the safe side. At least all the fuckers left him alone most of the time, which meant he didn’t even have to go out of his way to avoid them. Thank Hyne for small mercies.

No, Seifer could handle being BGU’s the black sheep all right. What was actually eating at him was boredom. The first few months, he had been glad for the way people ignored him, but after a fashion life got really bland. Fighting monsters in the training area lost its thrill, and so did reading library books. For a time, the only thing that managed to cheer him up was to receive news from Raijin and Fuujin, but as the years had gone by, their letters had slowly become shorter and further apart. Seifer guessed he only had himself to blame for it since he never wrote back. He tried to, countless times. But every time he faced the empty sheet of paper, he felt his chest contract and he gave up before he even had one line down. It was one of the countless joys of being him, with all the jolly war after-effects that went with it.

Seifer couldn’t really blame his poses for having moved on after so many years with no replies, but it left a sad, bitter taste in his mouth nevertheless.

Shaking the thought away, the gunblade user sat at his small desk and peered into the contents of his take-out bag. Porridge, as per usual, with a barely ripe prune, a protein bar and a cup of coffee. Dinner for the champs, he thought with dry amusement. At least they hadn’t forgotten coffee this time. Without much enthusiasm, he tucked in – warm porridge may be barely palatable, but it still beat cold porridge hands down. He’d tried cold porridge once. Disgusting stuff.

Of course, Kadowaki, Cid, Squall and his merry gang of friends were right. His attitude was the principal reason why their reinsertion efforts had been fruitless so far, something Seifer was well-aware of and reedily (if inwardly) admitted. They were also absolutely right when they said the Sorceress had left her marks on him and that he needed healing. They just didn’t know the extent of it. And if Seifer had his way, they would never find out.

For starter, he would not put it beyond Squall to have him nicely rot away in an asylum if he found out how much the war had fucked him up. And that week he had spent at the Estharian Psychiatric Institute after the war was enough to convince him that if he was not insane before he entered the asylum, he would definitely be after a few months of confinement in one of their windowless white rooms. But more importantly, he did not want to talk about it. About the war. About what happened. Just thinking about it made him feel filthy and nauseous. 

Seifer’s oatmeal rolled in his mouth. It did not make for nice meal-time thoughts, but he had long learned avoiding thinking about it was as pointless as it was counter-productive. The first step to healing was to accept it, he reminded himself glumly. Accept it. They made it sound so easy, like it was a switch you just had to pull on. He had been working on it for more than four years now and while he was closer to it now than he had been then, he still doubted he would even come to terms with what he had done. What she had made him do. What they _did_.

Because despite what everyone seemed to think, Seifer did want to get better. He honestly, sincerely did. But on _his_ terms. He had had enough of one Sorceress messing with his head and violating his intimacy, he didn't want anyone else meddling. He would deal with this on his own, thank you very much. Of course, he held no grand illusion that he would ever be “fixed” but if he managed to get five hours of sleep every night, he would consider himself golden. One had to be thankful for the small things, remember?

And he certanly had much to be thankful for, considering what had happened to the _other_ discarded Sorceress Knights. There were very few documented cases of Sorceress Knights being dismissed by their mistress, but after a bit of digging, he eventually found out virtually all of them had either been killed on the spot by their Sorceress or had clammed up, gone crazy and committed suicide shortly after. All in all, very cheery business. Which in turn probably explained why the Estharians had been in such a hurry to throw him into a mental asylum and why they were so obliging when Balamb Garden had asked to have him back – at Matron’s insistence, no doubts.

Swallowing his mouthful of porridge with difficulty, Seifer found himself feeling vaguely nauseous at the thought of Edea Kramer – his matron. Time Compression had brought back many memories of the Orphanage he had thought long lost and he remembered his youthful days spent under the tender care of their raven-haired woman.

He wished he didn’t.

Not hungry any longer, Seifer dumped his lukewarm porridge into the bin. With his current state of mind, sleeping wasn’t an option and considering he worked there by night, it would look suspicious if he started roaming in the Training Area during the day as well. That left him only with the library. He took out his watch; if he hurried up, he could still make it there before most of the cadets started to fill the hallways.

Grabbing his coffee and the fruit, he set out for the library.

As he walked along the rapidly filling corridors, Seifer ignored the glares cadets sent his way and kept an eye out for people looking for trouble. Not that he was afraid of being cornered up by cadets - he had killed a God for fuck's sake, he could handle his own against a bunch of teenagers with more chin hair than brain cells. He simply didn't want to be forced into a situation where he would have to defend himself, lest he actually hurt one of the kids and got himself kicked out of the Garden for it. Bottom line was, Seifer would not put it past Squall to be rid of him over a trifle, and he could not afford to get expelled from the BGU. 

The library was fortunately open when he got there; quietly, picked a few books at random and made his way past the bookshelves and to the rear end of the study area. Behind the last row of working tables, there was a small nook, quite unnoticeable to the untrained eye and with just about enough space for only one reading chair. But best of all, the working tables were designed in such a way that unless you turned the corner and went into the nook per see, no one could actually see from the rest of the library the person who was occupying the nook chair.

Seifer made himself comfortable in it, putting his coffee and prune down on the small table he had brought from the second-floor storeroom a few years back. Of all the hiding spots he had come to discover during his days in the Disciplinary Committee and later, in his long nights as the Training Center Caretaker, this was easily the blonde’s favourite. The library offered a nearly endless source of cheap evasion and was mostly always quiet. Nobody ever came to disturb him, he didn’t have to worry about being corned up and beat up by a few rowdy cadets and he could even bring a lunch along to eat there, provided he was discreet about it.

But best of all, it was a great place to listen to gossip.

Most people didn’t readily associate the library with gossiping; they thought the Quad or the cafeteria as more logical choices. What they failed to take into account was that both were loud and full of people, which meant chances of being overheard or walked in were high. The library, on the other hand, was far more discreet and convenient. People met there all the time to study for exams and complete team projects – and you didn’t just walk in on people who were working. And while in the rest of the library, silence was strictly enforced, there was much laxity about the studying area. The Library clerks did not mind students speaking, provided they did not go over board and remained quietly seated. But most importantly, nobody expected anyone else to be listening in the cosy silence of the library.

By Seifer’s experience, the back row of the studying area was where the most interesting pieces of info got shared. That’s how he got most of the crunchy gossip he craved for. Because yes, he craved for it; there was no point in denying it. He needed to have these ordinary people spill their mundane life in front of him to ground him, remind him that there was still such a thing as normalcy in this fucked up world. He needed to have an idea of what it tasted like to be an average person again and worry about silly things like exams, the height of one’s skirt and what that cute guy in the Monster Biology class had said last week. He needed that tiny bit of social interaction his trauma-induced fear of intimacy denied him so cruelly.

He was also so bored out of his mind most of the time he had come to rely on the distraction those stories offered. Try being an outcast in a very public environment for a couple of years and you’ll see how fascinating Garden drama can get.

Also, gossip was his prime source of funny information on the Orphanage gang.  
Being the object of a garden-wide cult for saving the world, it was not very difficult to overhear cadets exchanging rumors about Squall and his cronies. He didn’t even have to go out of his way – most of the time anyway. And the fact that he knew all of them more intimately than most made it all the more amusing. There was nothing as entertaining as listening to crunchy details about Irvine and Selphie’s latest minute breakup or hilariously impossible anecdotes about the campus-wide adulated Quistis and Squall. Seifer had once being amused for a whole week by the idea of Commander Leather running into a bunch of cadets while shopping with his ditzy wife for eatable underwear in a Balamb sex shop. Now that was a mental image.

Of course, he would more readily admit being a haphephobic wacko than being interested in petty student rumours about Squall’s sex life, but that was another story. He was also sure his old self would have died in shame at the very thought of enjoying listening to Trepies fawning over Quistis for hours on, but Seifer had come to accept – and even embrace – his newly acquired tastes for petty rumors and scandals.

Everyone needed a hobby, after all.

All things considered, his wasn’t all that bad. There were people out there who collected dead insects and stamps.

It made things bearable, at least.

With a mental shrug, Seifer picked one of the books and opened it. It was a book on fungi and local vegetation. It was drop-dead boring and he had read it already – he’d read them all – but he nevertheless reached for his coffee and started reading.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Across the cafeteria, Selphie waved her petite hands at him. “Zell, over there!”

The martial artist groaned under his breath. For a moment, he considered pretending to have not seen her and walk away, but the thought alone made him feel guilty. Better get it over with, then. Putting on his trademark cheerful smile, he made his way across the crowded eating area and took place next at their usual table.

“Would you believe that?” he asked as he set down his tray. “They’re already out of hot dogs! Said they sold the last of them an hour ago. You’d think they’d keep some in the back for us Seeds! I mean, you go and save the world and you get no special hot dog treatment. Not fair.”

Quistis smiled teasingly at him from across the table. “I’d thought you’d have outgrown that obsession for hot dogs by now.”

“No way! Garden hot dogs are the best.”

“You’re just a picky eater,” Selphie said between two mouthfuls of lasagna. “Even back in the orphanage, you already were. Picking tomatoes out of salads and raisins out of muffins.”

“Tomatoes are gross and raisins are just weird. Besides, you’re not exactly one to talk,” the blonde retorted. “You’re the only person I know who actually _likes_ cafeteria food. You’d eat anything.”

“Not true! I draw the line at mushrooms. Mushrooms are icky.”

“How went the Spring Festival cleaning?” Quistis asked and Zell carefully focused his attention on his sandwich. He knew where this was going.

“Alright, I guess. We didn’t have a lot of volunteers though, so we had to make-do. It took longer to take out the stage and the decorations, but we got there in the end.”

Faking sudden interest in the contents of her cup of coffee, Quistis asked softly, “Did Seifer give you any trouble?”

“No, but I almost wish he _did_ sometimes,” Selphie pouted. “I mean, I _know_ I asked for an extra pair of hands and to be fair, he takes directions well and never complains. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy to have him around. Oh, I wish Kadowaki would force him on another committee! I don’t see why the Festival Committee should be the only committee to have to put up with him. It’s been three years now, I think we’ve done our part. Let the Science or the Library Committee have him, for a change!”

Quistis raised her eyebrow. “Has he ever shown any interest in the Committee to begin with?” Selphie’s delicate shoulders fell.

“You wish! He shows up at every meeting, though. Always on time, but he never says a word. Just having him around makes everyone cranky, it’s horrible. No wonders no one ever volunteers to help us out!” Selphie sighed dramatically.

Zell kept his eyes firmly on his sandwich, pretending to be wholly absorbed by the bland mix of wet ham and mustard. It was in moments like this one he was glad people thought he had the attention span of a hyperactive toddler. He had no wish to be forced to give his opinion on the matter. Putting things diplomatically had never been his thing and to be honest, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Seifer Almasy and his so-called attitude. Granted, he had never liked the guy, but this obsession of theirs was getting old. You’d think after five years, they would have figured out he was being a prick on purpose and stopped caring. But he didn’t think that would go over well with the girls. Besides, Seifer or not, he doubted Selphie would get more volunteers, even if she gave away free pizza. Or even hot dogs.

Maybe hot dogs.

Irvine loomed in with his food tray and took one look at Selphie and Quistis’s dour expressions. “What’s the matter?”

“ _Seifer.”_ Irvine smiled.

“Should have guessed. It’s a wonder the poor man’s not always sneezing, considering the amount of bitching you do about him all the time. What’s he done now?”

Selphie sighed dramatically. “Nothing, that’s just the thing.”

“Well I see how _that_ would get anyone upset,” Irvine drawled.

“Sure, joke all you like. You’re not the one who has to put up with him all the time.”

“Sephy dearest, I am, as a matter of fact. You always send him to me as soon as he shows up, remember?”

“It’s not my fault he hates me!” the petite woman wailed. “He gets all frown-y and grim when I try to talk to him.”

“I thought that was just his normal expression, honestly,” Zell tried to be helpful, but was ignored, as usual. Selphie was a wonderful person, but she tended to be a little self-centered about the weirdest of things and oddly, Seifer Almasy was one of them. The man was a jerk to virtually everyone, yet she had been insisting for _years_ he hated her on a personal level nevertheless. The irony was not lost upon Zell, for he secretly suspected it was actually the other way around; he had a feeling Selphie still held a solid grudge against the blonde for ordering the strike on Trabia Garden, Sorceress biding or not.

“You shouldn’t take it personally, Selphie,” Quistis cut in. “Seifer hates everyone. I doubt he even likes anything but himself to start with.”

That somehow made Irvine frown. The cowboy was a very agreeable guy – especially around beautiful women – so seeing him conflicted, in Seifer’s defense no less, came as a surprise to Zell.

“You’re hardly fair on the guy. I mean, sure, he’s a little stuck up, but if you’re nice to him he’s alright to have around.”

Well, well, this was new.

“ _Nice?_ Don’t speak nonsense, Irvine,” Quistis shot back icily. “I’ve tried _everything_ I could possibly think of to be nice to him and all I ever got for my efforts was more spite and venom thrown at me. There’s nothing to be done about it, he’s simply impossible.”

“Woah, don’t take it like that,” the cowboy raised his hands in mock surrender. “All I’m saying is that it’s possible to have a nice little chat going with him if you’re a bit careful what you talk ‘bout and don’t expect him to reply.”

Zell snorted with laugher into his sandwich and Selphie rolled her eyes. “That’s not a chat Irvy, that’s you monologuing.”

“I’ll grant you, he’s not a great conversationalist-”

“Alright, did he ever say anything _back_ to you?”

Irvine looked uncomfortable. “Well, he sort of made grunting noises a couple of times. I believe he also said something like ‘That’s not how it work’ and ‘you’re an idiot-‘”

“Irvy-”

“But he did not really say it in a _bad_ way, we had a vibe going, sort of more like a joke really-”

Zell gave up fighting his laugher and Selphie patted the cowboy’s arm with pity. “Irvy-poo, he wasn’t being friendly with you, sweetheart. You’re just seeing things how you’d like them to be.”

“There was this time he asked me if moombas purred.” The three Seeds stared at him.

“What?”

“He did. Couple of months back. We were installing decoration on the chandelier and out of the blue, he asked me if moombas purred.”

“Why would he ask about moombas?” Zell crossed his arms skeptically.

“Beats me. He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Figured he knew we’d run across some in the desert prison and was curious.”

“Irvy, admit it, you’re just making things up now.”

The auburn-haired man raised his head with dignity. “Believe what you will. If you’re going to be like that, that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

Zell readily changed the subject before it got to dangerous grounds – like Rinoa and Squall’s potential wedding. Or the new Balamb Mayor project to revamp City Hall. Or his love life. Anything but his love life, actually. “Anyone heard about any new GFs lately?”

Quistis snorted delicately. “If you’re talking about those silly rumors about the ghost of the Library-”

“What rumors?” Selphie jumped in.

“Nothing worth of mention. Some cadets got into their heads there’s a spirit or GF of some kind in the Library. The rumor goes if you write down a question inside a book, it will answer you back or something equally insipid. The story’s quite popular among my first years students. The girls, more specifically. It’s the age, I suppose. No doubt an uninspired joke by some senior bored out of their minds. It was a really popular story for a few months last semester, but it’s lost its thrill already. Now they’re all over the so-called ghost of Class B-12.”

Selphie giggled. “You know, it actually sounds fun! Provided it’s not just a story and the book exists.”

Quistis snorted. “Of course there is no book. If there was such a thing, the Librarian would have put an end to it right away. This sort of thing could be quite armful, you know.”

“But don’t you think it’s nice to think someone out there’s giving anonymous counselling to the students?” Her green eyes glinted and Zell knew she was already thinking up ways to find out who was behind the book and ask them if she could give him a hand. Or take over the whole thing, really. That would be the kind of thing she would do.

Irvine wriggled his eyebrows. “Like dispensing love advice, you mean? You should definitely check that out, Zell. Might help you get out of that dry spell of yours at last.”

Zell quickly engulfed the last bit of his sandwich and got up. “I’m done, got some report to fill, see you guys ‘round.”

The three other Seeds gaped at him incredulously. “But you just got there!”

“You really shouldn’t wolf down your food like that Zell; that can’t be good for your stomach.”

“You haven’t even touched your dessert, mate.”

“Have a go at it, baby. Sorry, gotta run. See you ‘round!” he called back cheerfully, inwardly mourning the loss of his dessert. Today had been caramel pudding, one of the only palatable sweets on the menu. But sometimes, sacrifices had to be made; if abandoning the pudding to the cowboy meant he could avoid another painful discussion on his love life – or lack thereof – he deemed it a small price to pay.

On the way out, he ran into Rinoa with her food tray. She blinked at him with surprise.

“Zell, you’re leaving already?”

“Sorry Rin; report to fill, gotta go!”

Once he was out of the cafeteria – and out of their sight – he breathed a sigh of relief and shoved his hands into his pockets sullenly. There was no doubt in his mind that they were already busy bitching about the way he had been spending less and less time with them in the past few months. That didn’t make him feel nearly as guilty as he should, which was a little troubling in its own way.

He also guessed he really should be more careful not to make it too obvious he was avoiding them, but lately he couldn’t be bothered to find good excuses – or even plausible ones, really. Zell felt like banging his head on the wall at the thought. A mission report to write? That was so laaaaame! What in the devil made him say that? Everyone knew he hadn’t been sent away on a mission for _months_. Which was precisely the crux of the problem, he mused glumly.

He needed to get away from the Garden; away from his dull routine and most importantly, away from _them_.

Zell knew he was a terrible friend for feeling that way, but he could not help it. He loved his friends, he did, really. But after being stuck with them inside of the Garden for so long, listening to their silly rambles had become tiresome. He just needed some air. That didn’t make of him a bad friend, didn’t it?

But that was just the thing: he wasn’t even sure they _counted_ as friends. Sure, they had grown and fought the war together. At first, Zell thought that bond would mean they would be the best of friends one could possibly have. But reality quickly caught up with him and he realized it just wasn’t the case. Not that they were not nice people – they truly were and he honestly loved them. Even Rinoa. But their personality and interests were so different things got awkward when they spent too much time together. He could get on fine with Selphie on best days; her joyful energy called to him, even if she was kind of over the top. But he had a hard time relating to Quistis, who sometimes acted like he was still five, or to Irvine, whose only purpose in life seemed to be flirting with girls and talking about the girls he flirted with. Rinoa grated on his nerves and Squall...

Well, Squall was being Squall.

He would trust him with his life and die without a second thought for him. He was his best friend. But he was not the kind of friend you went surfing with, or with whom you had take out by the beach on a hot sunny day. Nor the kind of friend you confided in when you were going through a hard time or had love issues.

D _efinitely_ not the kind of friend you confided in when you had love issues.

In a way, over the years, he had come to realize they were more like brothers and sisters than friends to him. He loved them unconditionally and would always be fiercely loyal of them, but that didn’t mean he wanted to spend all his free time with them. As it turned out, he didn’t. But being one of the Six Heroes who saved the world from Time Compression was not the kind of thing that made making friends easy. Hanging out with people who thought you were made of awesome was just awkward, and the others judged you when you weren’t super cool all the time. Quistis knew something about that, he supposed. Maybe he should ask her how she dealt with it, some day.

The point was, Zell was sure he would appreciate more the time he spent with them if he got to get away from them and go on missions more often. Alas, being an A-Rank, First Class Seed as well as a war hero, his services did not come cheap and few people could afford to hire him these days. Besides, what would they hire him for? There were (fortunately) very few conflicts going on at the moment and no evil sorceresses to defeat, which meant there was not a lot for mercenaries like them to do. Missions were sparse and far in between, and when they came in, they were usually tedious work allotted to less qualified Seeds who wanted to make a name for themselves.

Squall and the others didn’t seem to mind the lack of missions as much as he did. They all had long found something to keep themselves busy in between missions: Squall ran the Garden, Quistis had gone back to being an instructor, Selphie helped the Trabian refugee students around and ran the Festival Committee and Irvine either tagged along his girlfriend or flirted shameless with the rest of the student population behind her back. As for Rinoa, well, he had no idea what she did to keep herself busy, but he had a mind it involved doing a lot of shopping and bothering Squall. She never seemed bored, anyhow. Zell wished he could say the same. He didn’t have much going on when he wasn’t on a mission. He trained, sure, but there was a limit of training one could do in one day – and fighting grats and bite bugs had long lost its challenge, to be honest.

Sighing, Zell shoved his hands into his pockets and wondered what he was supposed to do with the rest of the afternoon. He had already done plenty of training in the morning and going to the beach was out of question; the weather was still too chilly for that. He could always visit his mother, but he had called on her earlier that week and didn’t want to impose.

He guessed he could always rent a book or two. Come to think of it, it had been a while since the last time he had called on Nadia – the pigtail girl. She was the sweetest of girl, really nice to talk to. Turned out she was too soft to be Seed material, but she had been a great cataloguer, so when she decided to drop out Cid offered her to stay and work at the Library full time. Ever since, she had taken over and quite frankly, nobody missed the days NORG’s shumi were running the place. She admitted readily she was better suited to organizing books than going on missions anyway.

She used to have the biggest of crushes on him, Zell remembered. They even dated for a while – or at least that’s what everybody said, although Zell had never been clear on that. Admittedly, he was really bad at dating. For all he knew, maybe they did date at some point. The martial artist wondered if it would be awkward to ask her.

On second thoughts, it definitely would.

The Library was blissfully silent when he got there. He had no trouble locating Nadia, who was busy putting books back on the shelves.

“The place’s looking sharp. You’re doing a great job,” he called softly to her.

“Zell!” she beamed. She gave him a hug and then eyed him with mock disapproval. “It’s been forever since you’ve last dropped by. I was starting to think you had gone on a mission and forgotten to say goodbye before you left.”

 _No such luck_ , Zell thought sadly. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Last time I stopped by you were busy with a student and I didn’t want to bother you. Hey, think you could recommend me something? I’m looking for some light reading.”

Nadia took Zell along the alleys and introduced him to several new titles he immediately added to his to-read list. They then discussed the merits of the latest installment to the Pupurun series, debated on whether or not they should expand the romance literature section, exchanged news about common friends and shared a few Balamb local gossips. Duty eventually called and Nadia had to go back to work, leaving Zell in a far better mood than when he came in. He really should call on her more often. He seriously started to consider getting involved in the Library Committee a couple of days a week. Then he, too, would have something to keep himself busy in between missions.

In high spirits, Zell roamed a bit through the library. Exams were over and as one could expect, nobody could be bothered to be studying any longer. Even the studying area was mostly deserted – a rare sight indeed. With a nostalgic smile, the martial artist took upon himself to tidy up the place a little and came across a forgotten notebook, hidden away from sight in the far end of the studying area. Peeved, he brought it back to the help desk, where Nadia was sorting out more books.

“Here, someone dropped this in the back.”

The woman had one look at the notebook and gasped. “Oh no, you want to put that back!”

“What?”

Clearly embarrassed now, she looked away uncomfortably. “Nobody forgot it, we just leave it there all the time. For the students, you know.”

“What for? What’s in it?” Zell asked, reaching for it. Before he could even open it, Nadia slammed the notebook shut and took it away from him.

“Don’t open it like that!” she hissed. “Students could see you at it; they’re really superstitious about that sort of thing.”

Zell gaped at her quizzically. She must have realized she was making no sense at all because she started blushing. “Never you mind, I’ll put it back myself.”

Confused, Zell followed her across the library and watched as she carefully laid the booklet exactly where he had taken it, with far too much reverence for a thing worth 3 gils, tops.

“Care to explain what that was all about?” the blond asked. She looked sheepish.

“Look, I know this kinda sounds crazy, but that book’s become a bit of an important thing for lots of students. Not everyone uses it, but... Well, they like knowing it’s around, in case they ever need it. One time it disappeared for a full day and I almost had a mob on my hands. It was scary.”

Zell glanced at the nondescript little pad in puzzlement.

“Well if it’s so popular, maybe you should buy a couple of copies so that people don’t have to fight over it. Unless it’s out of stock?”

Nadia bit her lips. “The thing is, it’s not exactly a book. More of a notebook, really. People write things in it, messages, questions...”

“Waiiiiiit,” Zell said, remembering Quistis’ words. “You’re not talking about that GF ghost story thing, are you?”

“Guardian Spirit story,” she corrected him seriously.

“You mean it’s true? I thought – well, I heard it was a rumor.”

“Oh, it’s true alright. You can ask the book questions – anything, really – and you’ll get an answer. You might not like it, but you’ll get your answer.”

“Really? I bet that’s great publicity for the library,” Zell said cheekily. Nadia punched his arm playfully. “Okay, fine. So who’s doing it anyway? Writing down the answers, I mean. Is that you?”

To his surprise, the Librarian burst out laughing.

“Of course not! I could never answer _half_ of those questions!”

“Liar. I bet you do a great spirit of wisdom. Guiding younger students with your kind words and whatnot.”

Nadia only giggled harder. “I couldn’t do it; not like that. You’d know if you’d read it.”

“Alright, if you say so. Who’s doing it, then?”

The young woman smiled at him impishly. “I’m not telling.”

“What? Oh come on! You run the place, you must know who’s doing it. I swear I won’t tell who’s the secret library cupid. Is it Martha? Or Jane? Jane seems the type.”

“What makes you think it’s somebody’s doing? Maybe there _is_ a Library Guardian Spirit.”

“Now you’re just having me on.”

Nadia shrugged. “Suit yourself. You won’t get any more clues from me, then. And you’ll never find out on your own,” she said and she walked off with a smug little smile. Zell could totally recognize a challenge when he saw one.

He had more time on his hands than he knew what to do with it. This was _so_ on.

 

 

***

 

 

Zell was not one to back down from a challenge, but after three days of haunting the walls of the library, he had to admit he may have underestimated the level of difficulty of the challenge. Despite his efforts, he still was nowhere nearer discovering the identity of the Library’s Guardian Spirit. As far as he could tell, nobody had even gotten close to the book except for three cadets who either came to see the answer the Spirit had given them or to write down a question of their own.

Yet when he checked in the morning, every new question was greeted with an answer.

It was getting depressing, really.

And of course, it didn’t help matters that Selphie, as Zell had known she would, had decided to stick her nose into the Ghost business as well. She was always hovering around, looking for the famous book – and not very subtly, at that. It made things harder for the blonde by scaring off more than a few question-bearers. Good thing the book was safely hidden in the far end of the studying area, where no one would think to look unless they already knew it was there. She came close to spotting it once or twice though, and Zell had a real scare when she started asking Nadia and the rest of the Library Committee about it. But he needn’t have worried. Nadia, bless her soul, had enough common sense to know better than to set someone like Selphie on the book’s trail and gently brushed her questions off.

“I have no idea where this silly story comes from,” he heard her lie serenely. “I wish I knew who started it, though. I’d give them a piece of my mind. You have no idea how many students come every day to ask us where we keep the book! It’s very tiresome. Plus we’ve had students writing down silly things on book margins because of it. One of the books was brand new too, can you imagine?”

Her coworkers stuck to the same story, although Zell was pretty sure they must have known about the book too. He supposed they had decided its existence – and exact location – were best kept secret to a select few. It was the wise thing to do, too. Had they advertised it, everyone would have wanted to have a look at it and teenagers being what they were, they would have written silly things in it or decided to provide answers of their own to have a good laugh. All the attention would have scared off the original answer-giver and ultimately, the book would have lost its purpose and become a passing fad, forgotten in a few weeks’ time.

Fortunately for the small community of the notebook, patience was not something Selphie Tilmitt was known for. She pretty much gave up after the second day, although for a time she kept turning up randomly to peer suspiciously into the alleys, startling rather the Library Committee members. She also gave Zell funny, speculative looks every time she passed by him. For his part, Zell pretended to be deeply immersed in the story he was “reading” so she wouldn’t come and start asking him awkward questions. Luckily, she never came to pester him, although those funny looks did not bode well for him. He figured the word would quickly spread he was still pinning after the Pigtail Library Girl but he didn’t mind. Better that than that he was Ghost Hunting. Or Guardian Spirit Hunting. Or whatever.

Not that he was getting any progress on THAT front. Zell was starting to think of casting vanish upon himself and lie in wait to catch the culprit red handed, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually do it. It felt like cheating, somehow. If he was going to do this, he had to do it the right way. But to be honest, he was starting to wonder why he was bothering with this whole story to start with. What did it matter if there was a student who pretended to be a benevolent, question-answering GF? The more he thought about it, the less he understood what all the fuss was about and why he cared in the first place.

Except it had become a matter of pride the moment Nadia challenged him to it and now, he could not back down gracefully.

At the end of the third day, the young woman actually came to mock him.

“Starting to believe in spirits?”

“I haven’t given up yet, just so you know,” he mumbled mulishly. She took him into pity.

“Have you at least tried to read it?”

Zell looked up from the table he was draped over in misery. “What, you mean the notebook?”

“No, the Book of Hyne,” she rolled her eyes. “Of course I mean the notebook.”

“Well, no. Why would I?”

The Librarian sighed in frustration. “You mean to tell me you’ve been watching it all this time and you haven’t even _opened_ it?”

Zell frowned. “Well, no offense, but I’m not really into this whole soul-searching, anonymous counselling thing. Besides, you said I couldn’t take the book out. How am I going to find who’s behind this if I monopolize it? I’d scare them off. Wait,” he said slowly. “Are you saying this because you think I could guess who’s doing it if I read it?”

“Oh, trust me, you wouldn’t. Not even you. But I still think you should read it. It’s... well, you’ll find out for yourself when you read it. Here, why don’t you come back at close down and take it with you? I’ll let you have it for the night, provided you bring it back first thing tomorrow morning so that no one suspects a thing and don’t tell a soul. How does that sound?”

Zell reluctantly agreed. He wasn’t feeling thrilled about it, but he knew better than to refuse any kind of help at this point. Perhaps the book did hold some clue, after all. One could always hope.

That was how he found himself later that evening sitting in his bed, staring the nondescript notebook’s black cover skeptically. No matter how he looked at it, this seemed like an awfully stupid thing to so – the teenage-girl kind of stupid. But since Nadia had gone through the trouble of lending it to him, he really had no choice but to find out for himself what this was all about. He could only hope Quistis and Irvine would never find out about this. They’d never let him live this down, that was for sure.

 _Well, I might as well get on with it already_ , he thought as he opened it.

The first few pages turned out to be blank but on the fifth page, there was a message.

_‘Does she love me, or am I wasting my time chasing her?’_

Right underneath it, in a very elegant and fluid handwriting, someone had added:

_‘Ask her to the Spring Festival Dance already. She’s been dying for you to do it for days’_

Zell snorted. Yes, he could see this was the sort of thing teenagers would get hooked up on. Turning the page, he found more questions, all of which was followed by more of the cursive writing. He could not decide whether it was a man’s or a woman’s handwriting: it was elegant enough to be a girl’s, but far too neat and clean at the same time. From his experience, women tended to go a bit overboard with the whole fancy writing thing, but these lines had a very Cartesian simplicity to them that gave off an oddly masculine vibe, for something so fancy as cursive writing.

Male or female, this “Library Guardian Spirit” had great penmanship, Zell decided.

_‘Should I take the field exam? Am I ready for it?’_

_‘You’ll never do it if you wait to be ready for it. No one is ready for it. Just prepare yourself and hope for the best’_

_‘What kind of girls do men like?’_

_'You’re fabulous. If a guy doesn’t like you for yourself, he’s not worth the trouble’_

_‘How can I get the red-haired library girl to notice me?’_

_‘Try not stalking her, for a start. And by the way, she HAS noticed. That’s why she’s avoiding you’_

 

Well, that was creepy. Zell didn’t know what was worse, the girl being stalked in the first place or the fact that the Writer made it sound like he was spying on both the girl AND her stalker.

_‘Where did I lose my blade?’_

_‘You didn’t loose it, they hid it in the storeroom in the east wing. Also, stop showing off’_

_‘Is it bad to be afraid?’_

_‘No. The bad thing would be to let the fear keep you from going forward’_

Zell hummed reluctantly. He had to concede most of these answers were actually decent advice. Insightful, even, if you didn’t account for the creepy ‘I am everywhere and see it all’ parts. The Androgynous Fancy Writer, whoever he or she was, obviously was not some hoax coming from a bored senior or the fruit of some brainless romantic girl with far too much time on her hands. ‘Bored stalker’ was probably more like it.

 

_‘My step-parents invited me over for diner. Should I bring something?’_

_‘As an underage student, you wouldn’t be expected to, but if you want to give a good impression, try homemade cookies. Everyone loves those’_

_‘Do I need to be junctioned with a GF to tell it to learn a new ability?’_

_‘Technically no, but there won’t be much learning going on if you don’t junction them in the first place. They need AP to learn stuff’_

_‘My sister’s boyfriend just dumped her. Can you_ Haunt _or_ Curse _him?’_

 _‘Sorry, my bullying days are over. And I hate to break it to you, but that’s not how the abilities_ Haunt _and_ Curse _actually work.’_

_‘Is Gart the good guy for me? Should I marry him?’_

_‘What you_ totally _should do is basing one of the most important decisions of your life on the whims of an anonymous question-answering book. But then again, I might be biaised._

_On a completely unrelated topic, aren’t you a little young for the whole marrying thing? I mean, how old are you exactly? Seventeen? Eighteen, at best? At that age, most people don’t even know what they want to have for breakfast. Give it a couple more years and live a little, you’ll find out soon enough’_

 

Zell sighed wistfully; didn’t he just know about it! He did his fair share of identity-searching back in the days. Just think of the gravity-defying hair and the flashy baggy surfer clothes. The martial artist shook his head sadly at the memory. Boy, but had he been a loud brat! He still regretted the facial tattoo too, but that’s not like he was ever going to _ever_ admit it.

This did cast a new light on the Writer’s identity, though. Based on their tone and insight, it seemed pretty unlikely that they were a cadet – not even a senior. An instructor, maybe? Or even a maintenance employee? Unlikely. Perhaps an older senior who had flunked the field test several times but refused to quit and kept giving it a go year after year? There were always a couple of oddballs like those around. It would explain the ‘been here, done that’ tone; they usually enjoyed lording their ‘veteran student’ status over the younger cadets.

Zell then noticed that somebody had added another message in the margin. It read ‘Thanks! Turned out he was cheating on me the whole time.’ The writer simply replied ‘Refer to instructions on page 38.’

With an amused frown, the martial artist counted the pages – they were not numbered so it kind of made it a little tricky – and finally found page 38.

 

_‘How should I get revenge from my ex-boyfriend who cheated on me?’_

_‘Seven words: Shrimp heads, hollow curtain rods and super glue.’_

 

Zell laughed.

***

It was getting pretty late into the evening by the time the blonde had to admit to himself the notebook-thing was more than an overrated fad. For starter, it was filled with so many questions and answers it was obvious this had been going on for more than just a semester – If Zell had to guess, he would say the Androgynous Fancy Writer had been at it for years. With each new page, the martial artist reluctantly came to respect them a little more. If nothing else, he had to admire their dedication and wit. They obviously had a brain, but also a fair share of common sense and a wonderfully dry sense of humor. Combine that with nearly encyclopedic knowledge and an uncanny knack for student drama and you could almost believe there actually was an omniscient Library Guardian Spirit.

Except no GF or Spirit he know of had that much sass.

Take this one, for instance.

 

‘ _Do wendigoes have a mating ritual?’_

_‘They do. In the mating season, males roll themselves into mud and hit on trees while shouting loudly to attract females. There is a dance involving a lot of jumping around and grunting. Other males may try to join in and win the good graces of a female, but that usually turns into a fight and the female gets bored and goes away. I’m not going to ask why you want to know in the first place, but I’ll have you know there’s a great book about para-humanoid monsters by Meyers and Brick in the biology section.’_

 

Zell frowned. This was pretty advanced stuff. Even he couldn’t have come up with an answer like that – not without doing some research first. Either Androgynous Fancy Writer was a genius, or they took this whole free counselling thing far too seriously. Or they were full of it – it was always a possibility, but it didn’t seem likely. Anyhow, other students had sniffed out the opportunity and tried their luck – some with more flair than others. The Writer, however, was not easily fooled.

 

_‘I need a book on Cetran culture.’_

_‘Well, good news; this is a library, so you are in the right place.’_

_‘Do status effect like Pain and Confuse also affect GFs?’_

_‘You’re in Quistis Trepe’s class, aren’t you? Nice try, but I won’t do your homework for you. Chop Chop. Go back to it already.’_

_‘At what age do anaconda babies become poisonous?’_

_‘More or less after two weeks. They’re a precocious species.’_

_‘Can I have a detailed reference for it?’_

_‘Sure. You’ll find it in a book called ‘Do your own damned research’ by Dr Dew Igiveafuk. It’s easy to find. It’s in the ‘Have you no shame’ section, on the ‘Get off your lazy ass’ shelf. It should be right next to ‘If you can’t find this on your own, you ain’t Seed material’ and ‘You’re so getting an F on that report’. Hard to miss, really.’_

 

Zell snorted with laughter. This reminded him of someone, somehow.

At some point, the knowledge of the book must have also come across some Trepies, for there were a fair share of questions about Quistis. Zell didn’t know which the creepiest part was: people asking these questions in the first place or the Androgynous Fancy Writer actually knowing the answer – and being uncannily spot on every time.

Which just didn’t make _sense_ anyway, Zell thought with frustration. Only a die-hard Trepie would know all this stuff, yet Androgynous Fancy Writer didn’t strike him as the type. It just didn’t fit with the picture the rest of the book casted on the writer’s personality. Unless the whole book was Quistis’ doing – but that was just grotesque. Maybe an ex-Trepie? One whom Quistis had turned down? This would go to add strength to the whole exam-flunking senior cadet theory. Maybe he was getting somewhere at last.

 

_‘How does Quistis like her coffee?’_

_‘Cream and two sugar.’_

_‘Does Quistis ever go in the training area?’_

_‘Sometimes. Usually around the near end of the semester to let off some steam during the correction rush. Don’t cross her if you value your life.’_

_‘Is Quistis allergic to something?’_

_‘Mango. Also, bad table manners. Stop eating in the Library, you’re leaving grease marks on book pages.’_

_‘What’s Quistis favourite restaurant?’_

_‘Pepe’s Seafood Hut, by the port in Balamb. And no, she doesn’t date students.’_

_‘Is Instructor Trepe ever going to notice me?’_

_‘Try serenading her in your underwear with a sombrero and Galbadian string quartet in the middle of a morning class.’_

 

Zell had to agree that _would_ get her attention. That, and a solid detention.

_‘What color of underwear does Quistis Trepe wear?’_

_‘ **Seriously?** ’_

 

Zell shook his head. This was Trepies for you. Some of them even managed to get the purpose of the book so wrong that instead of asking for advice, they wrote poetry. Bad poetry, at that.

 

_‘Oh Quistis_

_Ethereal beauty_

_You pierce my heart_

_With your inner hurt’_ Zell cringed at the rhyme. _That line_ hurt.

_‘Start your own comment-shrine thing with you other little Trepies friends and keep me well out of it.’_

_‘Blue eyes like the morning sky_

_Lips like a fresh rose flower_

_You’re a goddess in disguise_

_And I’m your humble follower_

_By day your servant for the party_

_And by night your adoring lover’_

 

Zell burst into fits of laughter. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Lips like a fresh rose flower? Who wrote such crap? He had half a mind to copy the page and pin it to his wall, for the gag.

The Androgynous Fancy Writer’s come back was short and scathing.

 

_‘If you guys keep leaving bad poetry about Trepe in my book, I WILL retaliate.’_

 

Zell looked for the next poem giddily. This was better than soaps.

_‘Light of my life_

_You keep the darkness at bay_

_Sorry is the fool_

_Who would try to take you on on any day_

_For you would send them into the afterlife_

_With your cool and your whipping tool’_

True to their word, the writer retaliated with:

 

_‘Goddess of end-of-term papers retribution_

_Wielder of the red pen of misery and Temptress of the ivory tower_

_Bestow upon me your Balamb Chowder_

_And you’ll see that in these matters, I don’t need tuition’_

Zell had to muffle his laugh lest he actually woke up his neighbours. But there was more.

 

_‘Oh Quistis my angel and delight_

_You haunt my dreams and plague my nights_

_Will you ever look my way, my love_

_For this I pray the ones above’_

 

In answer, the writer came up with:

 

_‘How I wish this blonde nymph of chastity_

_Would at long last lose her purity_

_Maybe then she would finally grasp_

_There is much to be done with that whip, my lass_

_And move on to better things_

_Like the joy to her students she could bring’_

Zell chortled. Quistis was his friend and he felt bad for it so funny but he couldn’t help it. This was _hilarious_ – though he sadly doubted Quistis would find much humor in it. He vowed to never let the notebook fall into her hands. She would just destroy it to get rid of the evidence. Which would be a shame because, the Writer wasn’t mocking her so much as making fun of the Trepies’ weird fetishism and misplaced obsession for their favourite instructor. Besides, the mere thought of the notebook and its witty humor being disposed of seemed such a shame. And to be fair, it _was_ true that Quistis was a little stuck up.

Okay, maybe more than just a little.

Smiling to himself, the Young man kept on reading. By the middle of the notebook, it seemed obvious the story of the Library Guardian Spirit had become somewhat popular among the students. More and more people left questions on every page, but it was easy to tell most of them were doing it for the thrill of finding out what the ‘Spirit’ would write back, not out of genuine need for guidance. Androgynous Fancy Writer could tell just as well as Zell did and had no qualms letting the reader know it with style. Once more, Zell had to admire their sense of humor.

_‘Are you real?’_

_‘Last I checked.’_

 

_‘How many children will I be having?’_

_‘Do I look like a fortune-telling machine?’_ Zell snorted.

_‘Why is the shower in the northern wing of the men’s dorm always broken?’_

_‘Because it hasn’t been fixed yet?’_

_‘Should I shave my legs when I’m wearing pants too?’_

_‘I’m not an expert on these matters, but that seem to pose a logistic problem to me’_

And then, there were some just plain weird questions.

_‘Will I get fat if I swallow too much sperm?’_

_‘Exactly_ how much _sperm are we talking about? Because if it’s less than a gallon a day, I think you’re pretty safe.’_

 

Aah, those lovely teenage years when girls turn into gullible, insecure nincompoop and guys, sex-obsessed twits.

 

_‘Any good porn to recommend?’_

_‘Like I’d share.’_ Yup, definitely teenagers.

_‘I got a pimple. What should I do?’_

_‘Take a deep breath and stay calm. You must not show fear, or the pimple will know. Soak beets into Balambese hot pepper mustard for 48 hours and apply the mixture to your hair. Allow it to fully dry out, preferably under a midsummer sun. By the time it’s dried out, I guarantee you nobody will notice the pimple anymore.’_

 

_‘I just masturbated in this book.’_

_‘Your mother must be so proud.’_

_‘Is being Confused like being on drugs?’_

_‘I don’t know where you heard that one, but if I were you, I wouldn’t try to find out. Either way’_

_‘I want to suck your cock’_

_‘I’d be afraid to catch pedophilia’_

_‘Can you treat a veneral desease with toothpaste?’_ The martial artist flinched at the mental image. The Fuck?! Did teenagers really believe this shit?

_‘I’m not touching that one. Just thinking about it hurts. And if you REALLY need to have anything treated, the Garden has its own quack. Talk to Dr Kadowaki and leave me out of it’_

_‘Does the Yule King actually exist?’_

_‘I don’t know. I’ll ask the Tomberry Tooth Fairy at our next poker game.’_

 

By then, Zell was grinning from ear to ear. No doubt about it, this Writer had some style. He had to know who was this guy. Or girl. Or whatever.

_‘You have great tits’_

_‘Daryl, I know it’s you. Keep this up and I WILL tell your mother.’_

 

Zell noticed this question’s handwriting was pretty similar to the porn and cock ones a few pages back and smirked. Unsurprisingly, there were no more comments from this mysterious ‘Daryl’ afterward. He shook his head.

Teenage boys and their stupid hormones.

With a wistful sigh, Zell realized Nadia had decidedly played a dirty trick on him by lending him that notebook. He understood now why she – why everyone who had come across it – was so serious about the whole notebook business. It was because of the Writer, of course. The brilliant, generous, funny, sassy Androgynous Fancy Writer.

He may be a little close to finding out who they were, but it was no longer a matter of pride for him. Now, he HAD to know. He knew it was a little weird but in all his life, he had never wanted to meet someone as badly before. And Hyne, but wasn’t it just one of the most terrible ideas he’d ever had.

Of course, this couldn’t go well. It was obvious someone who had taken as many precautions as this one to remain anonymous for so long would not take well to be unmasked. Besides, how was he supposed to break it to them? Walk up to them to say ‘Hey, I read your notebook thing and I like your style, let’s hang out’? Wayyyy to not sound like a creepy stalker.

Talk about awkward. And ironical, he guessed.

Besides, he knew the only thing that awaited him down that road was disappointment. Because let’s face it, this seemingly witty, sensitive and intelligent person most likely was a socially awkward dropout with worrisome stalker tendencies, few real-life friends and extremely doubtful hobbies. Zell even bet they were greasy-haired and full of pimples to complete the picture. Still, he knew if he didn’t find out who they were for himself, it would nag him forever and drive him to distraction.

Muc to his shame, the martial artist was disappointed when he realised there were only a handful of pages he hadn’t read yet. He was already thinking of the questions he would be asking Nadia when he returned it when he ran across a question that had him clutching the book and gape.

 

_‘Do moombas purr?’_

Right underneath, the Writer had answered in their usual elegant and tidy handwriting:

 

_‘They don’t, but they squeal and growl, though.’_

 

The blonde stared incredulously at those two simple lines, frowning. This couldn’t be a coincidence, couldn’t it? What were the chances for two different people asking that same question – more or less around the same time?

Unless.

Unless...

No. Oh no. No, no no no no. This had to be a weird-ass coincidence; it really just couldn’t be-

No. No, it _couldn’t_ be. Of course not. He was being silly for even considering it. Downright bonkers!

Yet.

Snapping the book shut, Zell paced around his room, trying to make head or tails of it, but he simply couldn’t wrap his head around it. It was too big and impossible and it made no sense – except it also made _too much_ sense and oh my God, was he seriously considering this? He _was_ considering this. He was completely off his rockers. Raving mad!

He had a sinking feeling about this.

And he had to find out.

Adrenalin pumping in his veins, Zell set off into the deserted Seed dormitory corridor. He didn’t have to walk long before he reached the door he was looking for. He had no idea what time it was – actually, he had a pretty good notion that it was way past most people’s bedtime and _definitely_ far too late to be calling on anyone. He knocked nevertheless. When no one came to answer, he knocked louder and louder, until he heard cursing sounds inside.

The door opened, revealing a peeved-looking tall young man in a burgundy dressing grown.

“ _Zell?”_

“Sorry to bother you Irvine, I know it’s kinda late and it’ll sound weird, but I really have to know. The other day, you said Seifer asked you once if moombas purred, didn’t you?”

The cowboy blinked at him oilishly. “Hm. Err, sure?”

“Do you remember what you told him? When he asked, I mean.”

 _Please don’t say that they squealed and growled, please don’t say that they squealed and growled, please please pretty pleaaaaase!_ Zell thought desperately.

Irvine scratched his chin lazily. “M’not sure on the exact words, but I think I said they didn’t. Purr, you know. But that they squealed a lot. And growled. They growl too. A tiny growl. But why d’you a- Zell?” he called after the retreating blonde. “Zell? You alright, mate? What’s the matter?”

From inside his bedroom, Selphie’s sleepy voice emerged. “Wazzup?”

As Zell disappeared into his own room, Irvine could only shrug in puzzlement. “No idea. Think it has somethin’ to do with Seifer.” Grunting, the brunette just rolled over and fell back to sleep.

Irvine Kinneas was not by nature easily fazed, nor was he one to be curious about other people’s business – unless of course it involved women or gun. And this involved neither. With a shrug, he closed the door and went back to bed. He would have forgotten about the whole affair by the time he had his first cup of coffee the next morning.

And he wouldn’t remember about it before a long, long time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is still not my native language. I try to write the best I can, but if you run into mistakes, please tell me.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been supporting me so far, and a special thanks to Devil's Too Many, who has been a wonderful reader and a great source of motivation. This one is for you, girl :3
> 
> Any yes, in case you couldn't tell, I kinda got carried away


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